Atonement
by Ally Kumari
Summary: Some things just never go away... A new work in progress, after years of inactivity. Set after Trapped but before HOTS. Involving all the characters that were in the Treehouse at the time, and Tribune.
1. Chapter 1

„Remind me again why I let them go so far and for so long?"

The jungle girl smiled faintly and lifted her gaze from the book she was reading. She knew Roxton was talking to himself rather than addressing her, his eyes trying with difficulty to penetrate the darkness that had swallowed everything beyond the Treehouse walls, his hands firmly gripping the railing of the small balcony. Still, she could not resist to answer.

„Officially? Because Challenger insisted on tracking down from where do those weird purple fireflies come from. Unofficially – because you lost the last screaming match with Marguerite four days ago," she replied as uninterested as she could make herself sound. Roxton´s face growing even more sulky signaled that she hit the target without fail. „What was it about, anyway?" Veronica asked innocently, but the hunter merely shook his head. Veronica returned to her book, but even as her eyes scanned the words, her mind has run off into another direction. Roxton and Marguerite. Their endless bickering and innuendos over the years have never interested her in the least. That they were attracted to each other had been apparent from the start. That they developed deep feelings for each other did come as a surprise to her though. She knew Marguerite was not without a better side to her, but why of all men Roxton, honourable, just and selfless, would actually fall head over heels with her was a big question mark for a long time. Finally Veronica decided she perhaps shouldn´t judge relationships of others by her own understanding. After all, it was her who had pushed away the one she cared for away. Willingly. And without any reason besides being too wary to take a chance. Oh Ned... She could almost see him in front of her. Scribbling something into his journal, occasionally lifting his eyes to her, secretly, unaware she knew. He had always done that, from the first evening he spent in the Treehouse. Back then, when she caught his gaze, he would turn red, burying his head into the journal once again. Later, he would hold her eyes for a bit. Then he would smile. And only then he would return to his writing. He was getting a bit bolder each day. And she … she began to stall. Now they were apart. God only knew if she was ever to see him again.

She felt tears stinging in her eyes all of a sudden. With one swift motion she wiped them away and redirected her thoughts closer to home. Roxton had left the balcony and was now sitting at the table. Since he had polished and cleaned every piece of artillery he could find in the Treehouse earlier, he was now mercilessly polishing all the boots. When he got to a pair of Marguerite´s, Veronica noticed with slight astonishment that although his face remained wrinkled with a frown, his calloused palms grew gentle, systematically polishing the boots, yet caressing them at the same time. The blond girl keeping him silent company wondered as she watched him. She could swear Roxton had been even more attentive and gallant to Marguerite than before, not to mention his over-protectiveness of her was at times almost ridiculous. Not only that. Through the constant fighting Marguerite and Roxton seemed …. less angry with each other lately. They bickered still, but forgot sooner. They always knew where the other was. And there were gestures, touches that nobody had really noticed until one afternoon Veronica happened to catch, from the corner of her eyes, a glimpse of Roxton running the back of his fingers up Marguerite´s back absent-mindedly. When she looked better, the intimacy of the moment had passed.

He had told her!

Veronica drew a deep breath as realization hit her. Roxton had told Marguerite what everybody could see except for her. He told her he loved her. And more astoundingly – Marguerite obviously accepted him. And in the true Marguerite fashion they kept it to themselves. But when? How? And how could the rest of the Treehouse occupants had been so blind? Now that she realized it, Marguerite seemed almost shy when near to Roxton at times. And Roxton Veronica had known just a year ago would hardly be polishing Marguerite´s boots with such amorous adoration. Veronica felt a rush of excitement at her discovery. She forgot herself and tried to rise from the couch. The sharp pain that shot through her leg sent her crumbling to the floor. Within a second Roxton was beside her.

„Veronica? What is it? Danger?" he asked, and as he carefully helped her to sit on the sofa again he quickly scanned the familiar surroundings of the Treehouse living room. He could not phantom what else beside an imminent threat would make his blonde companion try and stand on her broken leg. Veronica, colour drawn out of her face, merely shook her head.

„Nothing, I was just being stupid," she said apologetically. And not for the first time this week, she added in her thoughts. Really, she was still cursing herself for having agreed to Finn´s suggestion to go and explore an abandoned apemen settlement. Firstly there was hardly anything worth notice there, aside from bits of burned bones and foul stench coming out of two low huts of sticks and mud. Secondly she failed to notice a deep moat running along the settlement from one side for protection, carefully masked with branches and bits of soil. She could still recall feeling her fibula snap as it broke at the end of her unceremonious fall. Finn climbed down and practically dragged her up the less steep side of the moat, then supporting her all the way to the Treehouse.

„Did you want anything then?" pressed Roxton, worried. „You know you only have to ask."

Veronica considered inquiring further about her previous discovery, but ultimately decided this was maybe not the best time. Maybe she was just imagining things. And the British Lord seemed jumpy, restless and easy to become angry at the moment. Aggression was his way of dealing with worry and fear. Veronica did nto want to trigger it. After all, had she not needed a babysitter he would be out in the jungle somewhere, with their friends. But since he himself had suffered a slight concussion only days before Veronica´s accident, they decided that he would be the one staying home to tend to their hostess. Challenger was thus accompanied on his hunt for the strange, purple-glowing bugs they had encountered recently, by Marguerite and Finn. It was not that Roxton did not trust Marguerite and Finn to watch over Challenger. It was the fact he really trusted no one to protect Marguerite but himself. Their argument four days ago was ugly and she set out on the journey without reconciliation. The trip was planned to take seven or eight days. They were gone for half that time so far and Veronica could just feel the tension in the house rising with each passing minute.

„Could you help me to my room, please? I think I may as well try to sleep since I am so useless right now."

„You will be fine, as long as you stay off that leg," was Roxton´s only reply as he picked her up and made way towards Veronica´s room. As she settled in her bed and closed her eyes, she could hear Roxton´s footsteps as he left. She sighed and tried to picture the blond, blue-eyes journalist.

„Good night, Ned," she whispered and soon she fell asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Note before the story:** I am not a native English speaker, in fact my language is vastly different from it. So before you attack me viciously for punctuation and mistakes I am bound to make, perhaps you should consider the fact that by writing fanfiction I am not only keeping myself amused (indeed, I am writing for myself first of all) but that **I am actually trying to learn** and test my skills. I am always grateful for any well-meaning, constructive criticism, because I am neither a professional writer nor a Thesaurus, and there is always room for improvement. However I am not at all interested in useless hate spitting by somebody so **cowardly** that he/she does not even dare to send messages off-anonymous mode, simply out of fear that someone might call them out directly on their low manners. If you do not like my writing, you are entitled to your opinion, but if you also have **NOTHING** to contribute except for curse words and personal attacks on someone you do not even known, perhaps the best thing for your blood pressure would be **NOT to read the story**. The troll who keeps sending the profanities (to my great amusement even taking pains to replace letters with stars just so his vocabulary is not detected by filters) may also be informed that I moderate the reviews, so he/she may kindly give up the effort to publicly offend me._

* * *

Finn cursed silently as the slave trader pushed her roughly onto her knees. The sharp splinters of the rough wooden planks pushed painfully into her skin, but she ignored it. After all, the tight ropes binding her hands behind her back felt much worse. As did the humiliation of it all. The irony of the fact that she had escaped slavers from New Amazonia only to be captured here was too bitter. They had not stripped her, perhaps because they decided her own outfit was revealing enough to fetch a handsome price, but they did take away her boots. Finn looked at the crowd of bidders who had gathered around the small platform in the middle of a dusty village and wondered how many of them probably had a foot fetish. To her astonishment the crowd did not consists of only humans. She caught a glimpse of two or three strange, lizard-like creatures in armour. They looked sophisticated, even elegant, and a far cry from the rest of the little mob. She had no idea where Challenger ended up after being herded into another part of the settlement with other captured men, and Marguerite had already been sold, in front of her very eyes. Finn shuddered in disgust at the memory. The bidders had seemed bored, but as soon as the former heiress appeared on the crude stage, the atmosphere at the human market changed. Unlike other female slaves Marguerite did not cry or crouched in vain attempts to escape. She did not even flinch as the blouse and skirt were almost ripped off of her and her braid unbound. She merely stood there, clad only in her camisole and pantaloons, looking like a Michelangello´s marble statue. It was not only her attitude that singled her out from among the rest of the unfortunate women intended for sale; her pale skin with fresh, rosy colouring, her curly hair, her large, silver eyes, all that was something extraordinary here in the middle of the South-American nowhere. But more than that, Marguerite´s being was breathing incredible femininity. The way she chose to stand, the way her lips trembled slightly, the way her head turned little to the side – it was as if the lowly human market transformed into a temple of worship and Marguerite was the idol. Too soon, however, the spell was broken. There was a brawl later on, as the bidders lost their temper, each vying for the prize and hoping to posses Marguerite either for themselves or for their Masters, but it was, in the end, one of those peculiar lizardmen who threw his purple cloak around her shoulders and led her away.

The auction continued. „We start bidding at one thousand!" the slave trader roared into the crowd as Finn was kept down on her knees. She had given him a black eye and a cracked rib before he finally managed to capture her, and he was now enjoying the opportunity to humiliate her as much as he possibly could. „Blond hair, blue eyes – possibly a Hagan. Or even an Amazon!" he described her to the bidders. „Feisty one she is, too! Will need a firm hand! Anyone feels up to the challenge?" In spite of everything Finn had to wonder what currency she was being appraised in. From the reaction of the crowd she was apparently, much like Marguerite, one of the high-points of the day. Her eyes were darting from one face to another, trying desperately to keep up with who bid on her, but soon she had to give up. On her knees and feeling the rough grip of the slaver on the back of her neck, it was difficult to even raise her head. She was almost surprised when the grip loosened and she was yanked up to her feet. The bidding was over. The same lizardman that had bought Marguerite was standing in front of her, eyeing her with what seemed a doubt as well as curiosity. Money exchanged hands and the lizard took Finn by her upper arm. His grasp was firm, but not hurtful, as he pushed her through the crowd and away from the platform, where another unfortunate female took her turn. The girl from the future cursed under her breath as her bare feet came into contact with sharp pebbles covering the ground. She hissed in sudden pain. „You know you could have at least bought my boots as well to get a complete package," she said, annoyed, when the lizard turned to her. His face remained unchanged, but he obviously understood. Within a second Finn found herself thrown over his shoulder. „Well, I certainly hope I´m the most expensive sack of potatoes you have ever carried," she muttered. Considering all the possibilities, she stopped resisting. Maybe she could find Marguerite. And then they could do some planning.

Meanwhile the bidders on the market began to disperse. It was obvious that nothing more interesting would be on sale today.

* * *

„Is that her?"

It was the first thing the lizard said as he entered a colourful tent beyond the perimeter of the village.

„Yes."

That was distinctly Marguerite´s voice. Finn was standing again, her arms finally free of the ropes, taking a proper look around. In one corner of the tent a bunch of women huddled together in apparent misery. In another corner there was a number of men, just as mournful. They were all in chains, guarded by more lizards in full armour. In the middle of it all there was Marguerite. Sitting on a comfortable chair, her figure still draped in the purple cloak, and looking as unperturbed as ever. No chains, no ropes. In fact she looked like she owned the tent and everyone in it. And her tone gave no doubt that she was the one giving the commands at the moment.

„Have you found the Professor yet?" she asked the lizard who had brought Finn. There was nothing pleading or apologetic in the way she said it. „After all, you finally know what he looks like, don´t you?"

If it were possible, the lizard seemed ashamed. „Indeed. I will not make the same mistake again." With that he left the tent and Marguerite turned her attention to Finn: „Are you alright? They did not hurt you, did they?"

„Nah. But my ego has been better," answered Finn and flung herself into another chair nearby. „I cannot believe we never noticed we were being followed! Oh, and I am so not going bug-hunting with Challenger ever again!"

„Never say never, he can be very persuasive," smiled Marguerite. All the gentleness and vulnerability she had used earlier on the audience have disappeared. She was back to normal. Finn could almost sense her thinking, weighting all possibilities and probably already scheming to get them out of the mess. „And you can bet that once we safely get home the first thing he will do is mount another expedition after the damned bugs."

„I wish I had never caught one and brought it home for him in the first place."

„That makes two of us."

„Anyway," Finn lowered her voice and moved her chair bit closer to Marguerite, „care to tell me what exactly are these lizards and how you became their Queen in as much as ten minutes?"

„Queen? Oh no. Though at one point I was very close to their Empress, after the good Captain who has just left, ransacked the Treehouse and drove me, Roxton and Malone to the lizard city" the dark-haired woman stated matter-of-factly. „We have first run into these lizardmen shortly after landing here on the Plateau. Then several times afterward. Let´s just say that the combination of my wit and few ounces of gunpowder endeared our little human bunch to one of their most charismatic leaders. About a year and a half ago he had a chance to really bond with Roxton," she suppressed a wry smile, „and we got acquainted with his Empire. Let´s just say he seems to have a soft spot for us."

„Oh I´d rather say he has a soft spot for you, my dear."

„George!"

Unlike the two women the red-headed scientist looked rather worse for wear. The slavers refrained from harming Finn and Marguerite, aware that every bruise would inevitably lower their value, but for an elderly Englishman they had little mercy. Both women rushed over to support him as he limped inside.

„It´s nothing serious," he assured them. „I just think I have a sprained ankle. Rest is just bruises. They will go away shortly. You two are well, I hope? Ah. Just imagine! They gave me away practically for free! Apparently they do not hold intellect at great value!"

„I guess they earned a lot for other people. And our guns. Fortunately the good Captain here managed to buy the artillery as well as us," Marguerite laughed bitterly, making Challenger snap out of his musing over a wounded pride.

„They did not force themselves on you, either of you, I hope," he said worriedly. Marguerite and Finn just shook her head.

„We need to get moving now," said the Captain lizard.

„Well, accept our gratitude then. If you just give us our weapons and drop us somewhere safe, we can make our way back to the Treehouse," suggested Challenger.

„It is not that simple, Professor," he said formally. „By buying you and your weapons I had to give up a large amount of gold meant to supply us with much more slaves than we were able to buy." His eyes darted to Marguerite for a second as he said that. „You may think you were lucky that we spotted you in the crowd, but you should know that by indulging in charity carries a considerable risk for me. What if you are not worth that much to the Emperor? Then I will be lucky to loose only my career! No, Professor, you have been bought and you are our slaves now. Your weapons are in possession of the Emperor. Only he can decide what to do with them – and with you."

The three explorers exchanged a grim look. Marguerite was already wondering if she had not miscalculated.


	3. Chapter 3

**Note:** Thank you all for the reviews – here and on TLW forum – as well as encouragement. I will definitely take into account the suggestions! The reason why I write the speech marks down at the beginning of the speech is automatic, since my keyboard and computer are programmed for Czech users, but I thought I might as well use copy and paste so from now on the speech marks shall be where they are supposed to be in English.

* * *

Two more days passed. The tension in the Treehouse grew almost unbearable. Veronica, for the first time in her life immobilized, was bored to death. She tried to read, but no book could hold her interest for more than ten minutes. She tried to paint but gave up after several dismal attempts at Finn´s portrait she had promised to make. Usually she was quite able to paint faces from memory thanks to her inborn sense of detail, but she was not happy with the result she was getting and finally decided to just wait for the object of her artistic endeavour to get home. Two more days... Veronica tossed away the brush with a frustrated groan.

"Well, they do say that pen is mightier than the sword but you may just kill with a brush."

The invalid turned and saw Roxton standing nearby, a beige stain on the blue shirt, in the middle of his chest. The unlikely weapon had caught him unaware.

"Sorry," Veronica smiled sheepishly. "I would wash that for you but..."

"No worries. I still have a few clean shirts left and this one can wait with the rest of the laundry when the others get back."

"I feel so terribly useless!" sighed Veronica for a thousandth time. "I am not used to be sitting around for days doing nothing! Guess I would never make a proper lady of leisure in England."

Roxton couldn´t help but chuckle at the idea of the jungle girl in the mids of high-born ladies of London Society. He was quite sure she would be elegant enough, given some proper learning and tips, but in the end all the trappings and things considered proper would most probably weight on Veronica like iron chains. And her uncompromising honesty would have the same effect on that snobbish herd as opening a Pandora box.

"It would do you no good," he agreed. "But there are some wonderful women among the lazy and vain ones too."

"Such as?"

"My mother."

There was silence for a bit. A soft wind played with the tree leaves just outside the balcony and they could hear a T-Rex roaring somewhere in the distance. It was mid-day. The sky was wonderfully blue and for once the Plateau was showing its peaceful, calming face. Roxton suddenly seemed lost in thought, while Veronica was biting her lip. For as long as she could remember she has never talked to Roxton about his life in England. She did question Summerlee, Challenger, Malone of course. With Marguerite she never tried. At first she did not care to know more about the woman who betrayed her and sold her to the Zanga chief without as much as blink of an eye, later she instinctively realized it would be pointless. But Roxton was her friend from the very start. The companion she could rely on to watch her back, to help whenever he could. He had offered his advice and encouragement. He complimented her, boosted her confidence. He even stubbornly fought Marguerite when she tried to undermine Veronica´s hopes of finding her parents, in spite of himself being sceptical. How come she never asked about his life, his family? She knew about the accident that cost his brother´s life, but surely there was more to Lord Roxton than just that one tragedy. The idea of his mother, so suddenly brought to light, made Veronica ashamed - and intrigued.

"What is it?" Roxton asked, noticing her slight frown.

"I just realized how selfish I am. I have never even asked you … where is your mother? Is she alive? But if you don´t want to talk about her I´ll understand," she added quickly, knowing all too well the family issues may be too personal a matter to Roxton. To her relief he smiled, the first genuine smile she saw his wearing since the others went away six days ago.

"Yes, she still lives. I mean, it has been three years since I´ve seen her last, but she has always been quite a force, so I have no doubt she is doing well. Very energetic, with great organizational skills, and extremely witty. She enjoys some gossip, but doesn´t live for it. She is part of many a great committees; from local hospitals and orphanages to yearly floral festivals. And yet she is lady of leisure, as you put it. She has breakfast in bed, writes letters, knits, paints, has teas with friends and my old Nana, loves long walks and shopping. My father was lucky she chose him over a Duke and two Barons. You know what? Give me a second."

The unusual animated Lord disappeared, but Veronica had hardly a chance to draw a breath before he was back, handing her a small photograph. The picture was no larger than her palm, with worn sides and yellowish tint. There was a young girl in it, with clear eyes staring in the distance, light hair carefully arranged above the nape of her neck, and with an expression of mild curiosity rather than the sad, grim frown typical for the old photos. On the reverse side there was a faint pencil inscription: _Estelle Victoria Crawley, 1878_.

"Is that your mother?" Veronica asked. It felt so funny, holding that picture from another time, another world, and yet feeling its connection to her friend in the present.

"Yes. A year before she became Lady Roxton. She was just 18. I look nothing like her," he said, noticing Veronica´s eyes traveling from his face back to the picture. "But my brother did. The same fair hair, the same blue eyes. And he inherited her love of dance and music. He was more of a Crawley than Roxton, they say. He was considerate, polite and gallant. While I was a true Roxton: brash, arrogant and self-centered."

Veronica raised her eyebrows.

"You? Self-centered? Arrogant – yes. When you first came to the Plateau your ego almost equaled Chalenger´s. But self-centered? Never."

"You did not know me back then, Veronica. If you had, you would hate my guts, trust me," he laughed. But after the intoxicating nostalgia he had experienced remembering his mother, he was beginning to fear the topic of his family would soon turn to that one terrible event. There was no escape from it, not even here, and every though, every memory, every conversation about his family, his title or anything connected to his past inevitably ended with reliving the fateful Kenya safari. There was only one person who could truly offer him comfort when the past stuck out its ugly head from time to time, and she was presently miles away, possibly still angry because of their argument. Fortunately Veronica either sensed his fear, or was genuinely too taken in by the photo. The dreaded question was never spoken. Instead...

"Roxton, would you mind if I try to paint your mother?"

"I would be delighted and she would be honoured!" he said, his eyes brightening again. "But haven´t you just decided to finish your artistic career off?" he added cheekily, waving the brush she had thrown at him earlier, in front of her face.

"Oh, just give me that!" In one swift motion she grabbed it. "Frankly, I think Miss Estelle here has awoken my Muse. Painting something I have never tried before is almost as exciting as stumbling into an apemen village."

"Just be careful not break any more limbs while you´re at it."

She worked diligently and without a pause for about two hours. When her wrist finally began to hurt and her empty stomach started to protest, she set the brush aside.

"You know, if you ever change your mind and come with us to London, you could easily pursue the career of an artist," Roxton stated admiringly when she called him to look at the finished portrait. Young Lady Roxton looked exactly like her photograph, only much more vivid with colours Veronica had carefully chosen. The hunter felt an overwhelming wave of tenderness towards the younger woman. "Do you think I can keep it?" he almost pleaded and was happy when the portraitist merely smiled and nodded.

"Veronica? Are you at home? May I please go up?"

An unexpected call from below the Treehouse roused Roxton. Leaning over the balcony railing he easily spotted a small, dark-haired woman just outside the electric fence.

"Hello Asaai! Yes, Veronica is here. Come in, I´ll send the elevator down!"

Roxton helped Veronica to move from the balcony to the living room, as they both listened to the squeeky waltz of the ropes and pulleys. They both felt delighted at Asaai´s arrival that broke the monotony of the past week, however as soon as the Zanga woman stepped out of the elevator and they saw her mournful expression all their good mood disappeared.

"Veronica, Lord Roxton," she addressed them and fell silent, as if unsure of how to continue.

"What happened?" asked Veronica, feeling her heart beating more rapidly with each second. Sometimes was wrong. Very wrong.

"Are the others here?" Asaai finally broke her silence, hoping somehow that she was mistaken in her assumptions.

"No."

The simple word hang in the air as an impending doom. Asaai, pale and uneasy, without saying anything more reached into a colourful traveling bag by her side.

"A trader came to the Zanga this morning, bringing many curious things. Me and the other women went to look at what he offered. He is not unknown in our village, although he is not a favourite. Everybody knows he often buys things from the slave traders, things that they have no use of. Today he had these included in his merchandise."

Veronica´s heart may have been beating madly, but Lord Roxton felt his own heart stop for a moment. Right there in front of him, laid out carefully on the table, covered with dust and and dried jungle dirt, there were Finn´s boots and Marguerite´s hat.


	4. Chapter 4

Challenger and Marguerite remembered the lizard capital as a proud, luxurious city, not unlike an ancient Rome, although the palaces and streets lacked the graceful elegance typical for the latter. Here everything was sturdy, the magnificence a result of size rather than wonders of architecture. Yet almost as soon they passed the gates, that shut behind them with an ominous thud, both the scientist and the linguist knew something was different. The wide streets, previously impeccably clean, were full of dust and garbage scattered all around. Many of the windows and doors of the surrounding houses were nailed shut. The casually strolling lizards with their families and human slaves were nowhere to be seen, only ones in armour would cross the streets, shouting orders, hurrying without stopping to God only knew where.

"Something is rotten in the state of Denmark," Challenger muttered under his breath, his eyes scanning the cheerless place. Both him and Marguerite had been offered horses to travel, and although the visionary was not a keep horseman, it seemed a better option than to be locked up in a cage with other slaves. Finn was eager to mount a horse as well, however upon learning the girl had never been in a saddle before in her life, the lizard captain refused to entrust her with a horse of her own and she was now sitting in front of him. Her cheeks were still a little red from suppressed anger, but she remained silent, her bare feet dangling in the air. She mourned her boots as much as Marguerite mourned her clothes. The Englishwoman was still draped only in the purple cloak.

"So what has been our dear green friend up to? This place seems to have gone to the dogs," Marguerite turned to the captain, not mincing words.

"I advise you to show more respect! The Emperor has lots on his mind these days. He may not find your antics amusing," he growled back at her. It was obvious that the closer the moment approached, when he would have to explain why he bought the three explorers instead of at least thirty able-bodied men, the more nervous he became. Marguerite´s mockery hardly helped to improve his quickly sinking mood.

"From my experience it does not take much for him to be amused," she shrugged her shoulders. "But really, why does everything look so shabby and deserted?"

"We are at war," the lizard finally said. "Our enemy has used vile and dishonorable means to gain advantage in the fighting. What you see is a city preparing for a siege that is sure to come. But you cannot really expect me to fill you in on secret information."

"Who is this enemy?" Challenger inquired. "How long has this been going on?"

"Who cares!" Marguerite exclaimed. A completely different bit of information worried her. "Siege! All the more reason for getting out of here quickly! I for one don´t intend to starve to death while Tribune is hiding in his hole like a rat!"

Without warning, the captain leaned over and grabbed the reins of Marguerite´s horse, as if afraid she would turn it around and gallop back into the jungle.

"You are a property of the Emperor," he hissed. "Unless he decides otherwise, our war is your war now!"

"Well then!" Marguerite hissed back, her eyes dark with anger. "Let´s go! I am starting to feel a bit uncomfortable being a Lady Godiva!"

"But wasn´t Lady Godiva completely naked?" Finn asked, distracted from the previous conversation. Challenger looked impressed.

"You know the story?"

"Yeah... actually not that long ago Vee was telling me some stories, then the Big Guy came and told us about Lady Godiva."

"Why am I not surprised he would choose _that_ story!" Marguerite rolled her eyes, but she felt a little pang in her chest.

Roxton.

They were supposed to be home tomorrow. He would be worried.

* * *

"So how many men have you actually brought, captain?"

"Fifteen. And twelve women. Not counting these three humans," the lizards said, nodding in the direction of Challenger, Marguerite and Finn, all standing in the middle of the throne room. Tribune´s fist slammed into a nearby table.

"Fifteen! We have lost twice as much during the works! And at least twenty more to the disease!"

The unfortunate officer was crouching pitifully before his Master.

"My Emperor! Please forgive me! I thought these humans were your … allies!" he was desperately trying to defend himself.

"Allies! They are humans. Just because I let them live once or twice you think I would seek an alliance with lower species? Fool! Get out of my sight! All of you!"

The huge room emptied, leaving only Tribune and his three new slaves. Temporarily shocked by the intensity of his outburst, Marguerite soon regained her composure, although she remained wary. She had always known Tribune to be pompous, over-confident, shrewd and sarcastic. He acted as if he had no insecurity or weakness – the one quality she could fully understand. However, much like his once glorious city, he too seemed changed. As if the the shining breastplate and richly embroidered crimson cloak were crushing him under their weight. Indeed, Tribune looked dead tired – something none of the explorers would have ever thought possible.

"Thanks for the warm welcome," Marguerite finally decided to break the silence.

"I am not in the mood for jokes or mind tricks, my little minx," Tribune informed her, less furious than before but still considerably annoyed, as Finn couldn´t understand how Marguerite could take such an address without as much as batting an eyelid. "Although I do admit seeing the good professor here did come as a wonderful surprise."

"You need something," Marguerite stated. "Typical. Well, what is it this time?"

"Isn´t it always the same?" Challenger frowned. "You want gunpowder, don´t you? Well, I believe we had an agreement and I intend to stick to it!"

In the very same room, only months ago, when Tribune finally ascended the throne with their help, the explorers came to a decision. They would let the reptile lord keep whatever gunpowder was stacked away in his palace, however Challenger refused to entrust him with the formula. If there was an urgent matter, the Treehouse residents would make the black powder for him. It was meant to be used only for defense, never for an attack.

"And I ask no more of you," Tribune said, acknowledging the deal. "Even though, considering the fact you are now my slave sheds a new light onto the situation."

"You cannot blackmail me!"

"Can´t I?" said Tribune, his eyes darting for a second to Finn. Unlike for Challenger he had no need for the girl, unlike for Marguerite she did not interest or benefit him alive. However the Professor remained adamant.

"Even if you kill us all, I am not going to give you the formula. Has done more than enough harm already. If our deaths will prevent your perverted use of science, then so be it."

"Now you bore me, Professor." Tribune waved his hand and his features relaxed a bit. "But at least I know you have not changed and I can count on you. I do have an urgent need of gunpowder. Lots of it."

"I don´t get it," Finn blurted out, annoyed and confused. She felt like a child left out from an exciting game. "If this dude needs Challenger why did he nearly chewed the other lizard´s head of for bringing us here?"

"To be honest I am still mad at him. He had no right making such a big decision for me. Especially since I have no idea who you are. Also, one has to keep up his reputation, especially when everything around is falling. But there are more pressing matters to be dealt with." Tribune went back to ignoring Finn and turned his attention to Challenger once more. "I trust you know where to find the laboratory. I will send servants with you, ask for whatever you need."

"First I demand an explanation," the scientist insisted. "Against whom are you fighting?"

Tribune flunk himself into a nearby chair, sweeping his cloak away in a gesture utterly dramatic, yet so natural for him. He then gestured for the others to make themselves comfortable as well.

"As you know by now, reptiles are a competitive species. Some individuals represent this trait more than others. After my accession everything seemed going smoothly. I had foreseen trouble along the way, since a reptile in power always has enemies, however I must regretfully admit I did not expect my own brother to try and put a knife in my back one fine afternoon."

"Your mentor, your ex-lover, your brother," Marguerite counted Tribune´s rivals on her fingers. "Remind me again why we still stick with you when everyone who should trust you turns against you?"

"Because I am more intelligent then they are!" Tribune snapped. "Ruthlessness is what they had and have in abundance! But I am the one with a vision. Only a fool destroys the means of his power and there is no point in ruling an empty wasteland! When my brother failed in murdering me, he fled the capital. Few weeks later he started pillaging the borders, growing more bold each time, until I could practically smell the fires burning from my balcony. Unfortunately he has managed to persuade more than half of my troops to take his side, leaving me with few capable officers and bunch of humans to defend myself here. You have to help me."

"Why did you not contact us sooner?" Challenger asked. "It seems a little too convenient for you to be in the middle of war and in need of gunpowder when I happen to appear on your doorstep."

"The fighting escalated quickly. In fact, it has hardly been a month," Tribune admitted almost apologetically. "I did sent out messengers to fetch you. Twice."

"Then why have we never met them?"

"It´s difficult to set a meeting with corpses. Their horses brought them back, tied to their backs. Just in case I did not understand that my dear brother means it."

Challenger, Marguerite and Finn exchanged a grave look. It was the scientist who put their fears into words: "Are you saying that they have cut off the route from here to the Treehouse?"

"My dead soldiers thinks so, yes. You only got through because you came from the slave town, which is the opposite direction. But it is a matter of days, if not hours, before my brother closes off all the routes. I don´t have enough soldiers to meet him in battle. My only hope is to outlast him here in the town. Siege in inevitable. See? Even if I wanted to let you leave, there is nowhere to go. Unless you want to clear the path. For example with some gunpowder, if I may be as bold to suggest?"


End file.
